Hermina dug her fingers in the rough folds of her skirt, eyes fixed on the infirmary entrance. The cavernous halls of the hold were silent in collective trepidation while dragons soared and flamed above the safety of the rock. The hall stank of numb weed, sharp and acrid, burning nasal hairs and gasping icy breath.
"Dusana's out there." Elise rocked onto the tips of her toes to whisper in Hermina's ear. The words were shattering loud in the quiet. "I told her not to go, but she didn't listen."
"Does she ever?" Hermina forced a smile.
Dusana. Brave and bold and beautiful as any of them, always tossing herself into harm's way for the sake of her weyr. Constantly passed up on the sands during impression, despite how desperately she wanted to fight thread. If she didn't bond soon, Hermina thought she'd climb the clouds and rattle thread with a flamethrower. They stood side by side on the hatching grounds more than once, Hermina terrified Dusana would hear the raucous pounding of her heart every time an egg cracked. It might choose her, and Hermina gagged on the desire to run.
No hatchling ever had.
Hermina reached for Elise's hand and squeezed. "She'll be alright."
It was easier to whisper lies to someone else. Elise returned the squeeze and they stood in silence, waiting, breathless, for the injured to pour in.
It didn't take long.
Even with a fighting force as disciplined as Shigan weyr's, thread was an insidious enemy. It could not be intimidated or predicted, it simply was, and it wrecked havoc on any that opposed it. The first riders to arrive were young, barely out of weyrlinghood, on their first or second flights. Inexperience left them with scores down their arms and faces, hobbling with pain. The rush left no opportunity to search out Dusana among the grounded fighters.
Hermina remained an apprentice herself, and her duties consisted of cleaning thread score and applying numb weed to the affected areas. Injured riders filled the infirmary cots and Hermina breathed relief no surgeries were needed. She flitted between riders, brushing cool hands over fevered brows. A soothing manner was equal medicine for injured soldiers. She whispered words of encouragement as she tended wounds, left each dragon rider with a soft smile and a promise to check on them shortly. As soon as she could breathe.
"We need help!"
The voice, whip-crack sharp, streaked lightning through Hermina. She spun to see Dusana hobbling into the hold with a man near twice her size, bent double against her. Blood streaked his face, his eyes were pallid and rolling in pain and terror.
"Fetch water!" Hermina shouted to Elise. The girl raced off without a word. Hermina reached Dusana's side and guided them to the nearest bed. The man rivaled a runnerbeast in size. "How did you carry him?"
"He mostly carried himself." Dusana grunted as the man flopped off her shoulder and thudded to the cot. It creaked under his weight and Hermina feared it would buckle. "At least to start."
"Where was he hurt?" Hermina tore open the man's leathers.
"I thought his arm, but he got worse the more we walked. His dragon betweened him close to the entrance and he seemed alright."
Hermina peeled back the man's tunic and gasped.
Bands of burning red thread score tore up his arm and across his chest. The skin blistered to ugly pustules in areas glanced by thread, not given the chance to burrow, to eat. The man groaned as Hermina tore away the last scraps of his shirt.
"I need to clean this before I put numb weed on it." Hermina turned pleading eyes to Dusana. "It will hurt him. Can you hold him still for me?"
Dusana glanced toward the doorway, jaw flexing. Elise jogged toward them, jostling a pail of steaming water. She grinned as she spotted her sister, flicking sweat soaked hair from her eyes. Her appearance seemed to make Dusana's mind up for her, and the older girl nodded and moved toward the rider's shoulders. Dusana wasn't small for her age, but she was significantly slighter than the rider. Hermina cast around the room for anyone else, but all healers were heads bent over injuries, busy.
Dusana would do.
"Elise, you help her." Hermina wrung scalding water from a cloth.
"Of course!"
The rider shrieked at the first touch against his wounds, but the horrid sound died into pitiful groans before Hermina finished washing the worst of them. He was nigh unconscious as Hermina applied numb weed in wide, soothing circles over the blistered skin.
"There you are," Elise cooed, stroking the man's sweat soaked hair.
"Are you good?" said Dusana. "I need to get back out there."
Hermina was. The worst passed, there was nothing left for Dusana to do, but out there meant danger, and Hermina's heart would break if Dusana returned scarred. Or didn't return at all. It was the same dance each threadfall. Dusana couldn't be persuaded to stay inside, cowering with Hermina. She was every manner of thing Hermina wasn't. Not cautious or cowardly, not afraid to stand on the hatching grounds beckoning young dragons to her. She wanted to risk her life for the weyr. She wanted to be the hero.
Hermina just wanted to be safe.
The rider gargled and convulsed.
"Something's wrong!" Elise squeaked.
Hermina dragged her hands down the rider's torso, prodding for bruises or broken bones beneath the skin. Something she couldn't see. Something she must have missed. Dusana held him down again as best she could, but he thrashed, fisting the roughshod blankets until they tore. The rider shuddered and heaved, coughing blood specked saliva down his own chest.
Something was wrong inside.
Dread consumed Hermina as she dropped to her knees, fingering the blistered edges of his wounds. She pulled at the wrinkled skin, more hasty than gentle now.
"What's happening to him?" said Elise.
"I think..." Hermina pried open another blister. There. "I think he has thread inside him."
In the shredded piece of blistered flesh was a tiny hole, almost a pinprick, but large enough for thread to worm inside. This rider's dragon hadn't betweened fast enough to save him and it might now already be too late. This was far above Hermina's training.
She thrust to her feet. "I need a master healer!"
"Shards," Dusana gasped. She let go of the Rider's shoulders and stumbled away.
Master Zezune appeared before Hermina in a breath, haggard and worn with sweat and numb weed caked to his hands and face. He was an old man and Shigan's most senior master healer.
"What's the issue?" No nonsense, no dallying.
Hermina regaled him with her findings, holding open the blistered skin to show him the potential thread hole.
"We'll have to open him up," said Zezune with grave tones. "We need to burn the thread out before it kills him."
"Won't that kill him?" Dusana grimaced.
Zezune looked up, eyes narrowed. "You're not healercraft. What are you doing here? Get out."
Hermina wanted to balk, to disagree, to beg for Dusana to be permitted to stay and help inside the safety of the hall. But Dusananodded in deference and stepped away form the rider, turning on point, wordless, and heading to the entrance. A hand wrapped around Hermina's wrist, squeezing.
It was Elise.
"She'll be okay." It was Elise' turn for false platitudes.
Hermina offered her a watery smile. "Of course she will, but we have someone else to attend to."
‘Hermina," Zezune barked. "Fetch me a clean knife and a torch. Hurry!"
Hermina scrambled to comply.
In the end the rider survived, although he was unlikely to ever fly again regardless of his dragon's status. He lost most of his arm and a great deal of flesh from his chest and side, but none of his organs had been irreparably damaged. Living was the greatest gift he had left and he would yet be useful to the weyr. His name was T'ran, and he'd flown with Hermina's parents - as had most of the wingriders in Shigan - but she recognized him only in passing once he revealed his name. A blue rider, and not a young one.
That he survived at all was miraculous.
"He needs sleep," said Zezune, slathering numb weed across the man's chest. "He'll be in the infirmary for some days yet. Change his bandages in a few hours, but for now... take a break, Hermina. Get some food in your belly. Elise has already gone off somewhere and you're no good to me tired."
It hurt, but it was true. The infirmary remained quiet, it's patients hushed by tonic and numb weed, with glows dimmed to almost nothing to facilitate sleep. Shigan's losses hadn't been terrible this fall. No riders killed in action and only a handful receiving injuries severe enough that they'd miss the next fight. T'ran's were most grievous but even he would recover. Mostly. Nothing would bring back his arm.
Hermina stumbled out the infirmary and down the darkened halls, using her fingers against the smooth walls to guide her in the poor light. She could navigate Shigan blind. She was born in this weyr and had tormented its nooks and crannies through her youth. The fresh smells of cooking were long gone but paltry ghosts of rising dough and stewed meats permeated the kitchen. She grabbed cold meat pies left out. Her mouth was dry and the first bites were tasteless, but her stomach snarled as she ate until she could think of nothing but the tender meat and buttery crust. How long had she gone without eating?
She left the kitchens licking her fingers clean.
"Hermina."
The soft gravel of Dusana's voice made Hermina's skin pebble. She looked up, bewildered, as Dusana trudged the hallway wearing a grim expression. The poor light blackened the deep circles under her eyes. She wore a ragged sleep tunic frayed at all the edges and no shoes, which had no doubt been why Hermina hadn't heard her coming. She realized belatedly she was staring and had left Dusana's greeting go unanswered.
"You're alright," she said.
Dusana nodded. "Elise, too. She passed out as soon as she saw her bed. I'm surprised you're still up."
"Master Zezune kicked me out." Hermina smiled, tiny and tentative. Dusana often brought her to a loss for intelligent words. It was hardly fair, she only gotten to know the other girl when her sister joined the healer apprentices. Elise was bright and enthusiastic every moment, devouring teachings like a wher in a wherry hutch. When Hermina first spotted the brooding figure of Dusana she couldn't have guessed they were sisters. She'd seen them both around Shigan without having names to faces, but as the daughter of the weyrleaders Hermina spent little time with drudges. She wished she'd had, before she was terrified of hatching sands.
Dusana had no such fears and Hermina wished she could appear as stately and heroic in her eyes as she did in Hermina's.
"Hard day." Dusana leaned against the wall, kicking out a leg. Her arms dangled at her sides a moment before she crossed them deliberately over her chest. Her messy fall of brown hair obscured most of her face and she jerked her head to flick it from her eyes.
They were doing this then. Standing around at midnight, conversing. Hermina tugged at her braids, bit her lip, then sidled next to Dusana. Close enough to feel her warmth in stark contrast to the cold stone walls, but too far for them to accidentally touch. They'd had rare conversations together of any length and almost none without Elise present. Hermina's heart hammered louder than dragon drums.
"Not terrible, all things considered," said Hermina, twisting her fingers in her hair. "The holds are safe, we're safe."
"No deaths," said Dusana, grim and quiet as a grave. "Because of you."
Hermina inhaled sharply. The weight of that statement crashed on her shoulders and buckled her knees. Dusana's arms were under hers in a dizzying moment, pulling her back to her feet. She clutched Dusana's arms, the hard muscle beneath cheap weave.
"I've never dealt with that before," Hermina gasped. "Someone being eaten alive from the inside. I've read it, I know it happens, I've never seen it. Stars above, what if I hadn't-"
"You caught it." Dusana righted her against the wall, but didn't let her go, so Hermina didn't release her grip either. "You saved his life. You're a hero."
"I'm not brave." She regurgitated the words without thinking. Her mouth open. They spewed out. She clapped her hands over her lips, heart stuttering.
Dusana frowned. She didn't step back. "Of course you are."
Hermina shook her head and let her hands fall to her sides. "You work with the ground crew every threadfall. You want to ride a dragon. I'm... I... I can't..."
"You don't have to stand."
Hermina knew. She was terrified of taking wing on dragon back.
But it was expected of her, she had a legacy to uphold, and more, it had been her childhood dream. Not for the sake of fighting thread or keeping her weyr safe, the holds Shigan was commissioned to protect. But the pure exhilaration of taking wing and soaring through empty skies with nothing but wind and gaping spaces. The rush of it. She'd been on dragonback when she was a child, riding behind her parents when they took flight across the weyr for the sheer joy of it. No feeling came close to that. She'd begged to stand at Murainth's first clutch, although she'd been little more than 10. She was forbidden but sat eager in the stands, lowest to the hatching ground where she crossed her fingers and prayed a hatchling might search her out anyway. It wasn't unheard of.
And then her parents had died and fear crept inside her, eating away her joy like thread eats all living things.
Hermina didn't want to fight thread, but she did want to fly. It occurred to her that bonding a gold might satisfy her desires, but that came with a slew of additional responsibilities. Hermina didn't have leadership qualities, she wasn't courageous and forthright. She was meek, worried, simpering.
But Dusana was standing here, gripping Hermina's sides, telling her she was brave, that she didn't need to be a dragonrider to be of worth.
Her silence stretched uncomfortably. Dusana expression grew pinched. She was so close, Hermina could smell her sweet breath, clinging scents of her evening meal. The sweat of her skin. The feel of her pulse thrumming so close, almost in tandem with Hermina's rapid heartbeat.
"You don't have to stand," Dusana repeated, firm. "People won't think less of you for that."
"They will."
"I won't."
Hermina wasn't certain if it was her or Dusana that closed the distance between them. Lips touched lips in a brutally soft kiss. A whisper of breath eased between them, warm and sweet as golden afternoons. Two thundering pulses raced as one through herds of runners across the midnight stone halls. Hermina's fingers twisted Dusana's tunic and pulled her close. They parted with wild eyes and flushed cheeks, burning where hands clutched arms.
"I have to get back to the infirmary." It wasn't true. Master Zezune wanted her gone for hours until she'd rested and eaten, but Hermina didn't know what else to say. Fear gripped her again, throttling desire with the torturous abyss of what if.
"A weyr always needs healers." Dusana's smile was genuine and glorious, softening her usually stern face. She traced her thumb along Hermina's cheek then stepped away.
Hermina raced her emotions down the hall, passed empty rooms and corridors, far beyond the infirmary, and out into the sands where she stood staring at Rukbat's blood red anger and the countless pearlescent stars streaming over Pern's skies. The sands were hot and empty, but she could feel the gaze of dragons from the cliff holds.
Was there nothing she didn't fear? Was all she wanted to watch and yearn and never achieve anything?
It must have been Dusana that kissed her, it must have been, she never would have managed to close the gap between them, to let the other girl know her feelings.
Hermina couldn't keep running away from things.
Days passed as uneventfully as possible between threadfalls. Dusana returned to drudge work, helping in the kitchens, cleaning the halls, mucking out herdbeast stalls with quiet efficiency and no complaint. With no eggs on the sands she wasn't tasked with candidate chores or lessons, besides which she'd been standing for clutches since she was 15 and lessons were old hat to her now. Busywork kept her from focusing too much on her own actions and helped her beat down insidious thoughts and worries.
Hermina had kissed her.
Maybe it was stress, or exhaustion, or simply gratitude. Dusana wasn't sure, but she'd kept a brave face on as she watched Hermina flee from her. It had been a mistake on her part, Dusana assumed. Which was fine, Dusana was a drudge, always had been, and wasn't worthy of those lips on hers, of Hermina's sweet affections. Dusana couldn't dwell on it.
Which didn't mean Elise wouldn't.
"Shouldn't you be in the infirmary, pest?" Dusana didn't look up from where she swept.
Elise puffed her cheeks out and stomped out behind the stall. "How'd you know I was here?"
"You breathe louder than an angry herdbeast."
"I do not!"
"Then how'd I hear you?" Dusana ducked as a dirt clod flew at her head. Elise clambered up on the wooden stall, straddling it as she glared down at her sister. "Anyway, shouldn't you be down to the infirmary? You haven't come in days!"
"I'm not a healer's apprentice. Why would I be there?"
"You're always there." Elise kicked, but Dusana dodged it and thunked her knee with the side of her broom. "Making big moony eyes at Hermina and pretending you're there to watch out for you little sister." She faked a swoon. "Small and frail that I am."
Dusana pushed her. She fell with a squawk through a pile of hay. Dusana finished clearing the dust out of the middle pathway while Elise cursed and righted herself, picking long bits of dry fodder from her braids. She glared fire at Dusana, her face red and dirt-streaked.
"Keep your nose out of my business," said Dusana, with no real ire behind the words. "I've been busy."
"Mucking out stables and hauling bags of grain to the kitchen?" Elise rolled her eyes. "You've even managed not to do it past the healing hall where all the pretty girls can watch you flex your muscles. Ugh, you're so obvious."
Dusana didn't want to discuss this.
"Hermina's been all out of sorts too, if it matters."
It did. A sharp pang of something lanced through Dusana. Her eyes snapped up to meet Elise's before she caught herself and swore.
Elise burst into uncharitable giggles. "Your face!"
"Shut-up, I've got work to do." Dusana snorted and thrust her broom violently across the floor, kicking up more dust than collecting.
"She misses you," Elise drawled, sing-song. "And you miss her."
"We don't even know each other." They'd spent almost no time together alone. Elise was usually there, or a whole host of other healer apprentices. They'd done candidate lessons together, of course, along with many others in their age group. Sure, they'd chatted while they oiled the big bronze dragons together, talked about hopes and futures. Dusana remembered how vibrant Hermina had been when she spoke flying, of dragons, back at the start.
And how badly she'd crawled inside herself since her parents' deaths.
Dusana wanted to peel back the layers and let her be free to hunger the warmth of sunlight and cool breeze in dragon flight.
It didn't matter if Hermina never impressed, it didn't make her lesser for it. She could never be lesser. Dusana had seen her tending to the injured and the frail with empathy and kindness, with a gentle hand and gentler words that wormed inside and bloomed heat and light and love. She was perfect regardless of her choices.
And Dusana had almost marred that perfection.
Hermina kissed her and she'd kissed her back. Held her up against the wall with nowhere to go and indulged. Covered in dirt and blood and muck and worse from the day's events and she'd put those dirty hands all over Hermina. No wonder she'd fled.
No wonder she was out of sorts.
"Anyway, you should come help out in the infirmary again when you stop being such a deadglow." Elise finally turned on heel, skirts twirling, and headed for the barn doors. "T'und says threadfall is bound to come again soon and we need help making numb weed salve."
"My favorite," Dusana snorted.
"You'll come?"
"I'll think about it."
Dusana did think about it, but only long enough to decide to ignore her sister. Elise glowered at her every night when they returned to their bunks, grumbling that she was being abandoned by her sister, her one and only sibling, light of her life. Dusana tossed pillows at her until she shut-up.
Until thread came, as thread did.
Dusana always thought it made most sense when thread came at night, when everything was eerie and dark. But threadfall didn't care about atmosphere or theme, it came when it wanted, and it was midday when the first spiraling silver worms snaked down from the heavens, and Shigan's fighting forces took wing. Dusana joined the party outside the weyr, clad in leathers that would do little to stave off thread injuries. The skies rained fire and mercury, a pouring battle of heated orange strands blazing across a cloudless blue sky. Dragons ducked and dove, blinking between faster than Dusana could keep track of them. Nothing touched the ground, not a single thread. Shigan's forces were well trained and numerous.
But not invulnerable.
Huddled under a rock ledge with several other volunteers, stinking of sweat and dread, Dusana watched the first dragon fall.
It was a green, fast and slippery as a fish, who blinked and reappeared in a gout of flame but too far to her left. Thread scored her wing. It wasn't a severe injury, she dropped a few feet and caught herself with a wild back swing, still functional but considerably slowed. Maneuverability was gone too. Dusana rushed out from the ledge as the dragon blinked between. She was steps away when the green reappeared, her eyes whirling red-yellow with pain. She held one wing awkwardly aloft and Dusana could see the black marks of thread winding through the delicate membrane. Two more volunteers flanked Dusana as they raced to free her rider from his straps.
The green jerked her head upward and bellowed. Heat encompassed everything and it took Dusana a moment's pause to realize she'd flamed. Dusana raised her gaze. Thread spiraled down toward her, interrupted by the green's spray of fire. Ash fell. The thread danced lower. The green's fire raced behind it. Pain erupted from Dusana's skin, white hot then suddenly cold. Hands gripped her arms and yanked her backward.
Fire crawled up her arm. She stopped feeling pain the instant she saw it, surprise and fear overtook her instead. Instinct came over her and she whipped off her outer jacket, taking most of the flame (the heat, the pain, the horrible sensation of being cooked) away. Sparks simmered underneath, eating holes in her soft cotton tunic. She beat at it. The two at her sides followed suit until nothing red remained but blistering red skin beneath the ruined tunic.
"You need the infirmary," someone growled.
"I need to stay here, people need my help."
"You won't be much help if that arm gets infected."
Dusana snarled and wheeled, but the action pulled her sleeve taut over her skin and tore at the bubbling flesh. She swore as pain lanced through her. The infirmary. Right.
"I'll help you." Gentle hands touched her elbow.
"I got it. No sense losing more people." Dusana shrugged away from helping hands and headed for the weyr entrance, while dragons flamed and thread fell overhead.
Early in threadfall the infirmary remained quiet but fully staffed, with everyone mulling in anxious silence. It was the same every fall. Their collective breathes held against the anticipation of burn and bloodshed, hoping against hope no one would show up that day. Inevitably someone would.
Hermina didn't expect the first person trudging through the doorway to be Dusana unaccompanied by an injured rider. Her tunic was torn and turned to ash halfway up her arm, the skin peaking through blistered angry red. Hermina's heart leapt.
She'd barely seen hide nor hair of the other girl since last threadfall. This was not the reunion she hoped for.
Her hesitation cost her.
Zezune and two other apprentices rushed for Dusana and guided her to a cot. Dusana's face was twisted in anger as much as it was in pain. Hermina understood why without needing to ask. Dusana was never idle until she'd worked herself to the bone with exhaustion, until all that needed doing was done. Leaving the battlefield in the middle of threadfall must have felt like a betrayal to her ideals and to every dragonrider in the weyr.
Ground helpers got injured, though. No one would judge Dusana outside of herself.
Elise was at her sister's side in moments and Hermina heard her harsh tones above the quiet throng, berating Dusana.
It took moments for the apprentices and Elise to remove the full sleeve of Dusana's tunic and apply numb weed to the burns. The skin looked terrible but it was only fire burns, not thread. Hermina gasped relief. She had no time to dwell or add her own aid, because others began to pour in through the doors and in moments the infirmary bustled. She lost track of Dusana after the first hour, uncertain if the girl remained in the infirmary or returned to the ground volunteers outside. Hermina wished she'd stayed but all she knew of Dusana made her certain the girl would be out in the fire quick as she could.
The night passed without further incident. Hermina treated a burns and threadscore, but there were no grievous injuries that night. And no deaths. Only T'ran's bed remained occupied. He'd be here for some weeks yet until master Zezune considered him fit enough to escape the master healer's watchful eye.
The infirmary passed into quiet and Hermina sat down heavily on the nearest cot.
"You've got to keep it clean," said a recognizable voice, brimming with indignation.
Elise.
She appeared in the infirmary entrance pulling Dusana along with her. The girl had changed from her thread fighting leathers into a simple grey tunic, short sleeved that revealed her bronze skin and musculature. Hermina dragged her eyes away.
"It's clean," Dusana muttered. "It's fine."
"It isn't!" Elise shoved her sister - much taller and bulkier than her slight frame - into a cot.
Hermina covered her mouth to hide her smile. She might have made a noise because Elise looked up. She zeroed in on Hermina, mouth agape in an ‘o' for just a moment before her expression turned sly and insidious.
"Dusana needs her dressings changed and more numb weed," said Elise, turning to Hermina with hands on her hips. "I've got other duties to attend to. Would you take care of this?"
"What duties-" Dusana snapped, just as Hermina added: "I'm not sure..."
But Elise was up and gone before either of them could complete their sentences. Silence fell between them, Dusana seated on the cot with her injured arm extended, mouth pressed to a thin, bloodless line. Hermina standing, hands akimbo, uncertain what to do with them or herself. She turned in increments to face Dusana and found the girl staring at her fingernails. However Hermina felt, she was a healer, and she could push down her trepidation to fix a bandage. She took a deep, steadying breath and approached Dusana.
Bandages and numb weed were at the ready, so Hermina had nothing to hide behind. She sat, keeping distance between them, and reached for Dusana's arm. Dusana gave it easily, looking away while Hermina unbound her browning bandages, revealing the badly blistered skin beneath.
"What happened?" Hermina hadn't meant to ask anything, but the awkward silence gnawed at her.
"Wasn't watching." Dusana shrugged, a jerky movement that made her arm stutter in Hermina's gentle grip. "It happens."
"It'll probably scar, even with treatment. At least it was dragon flame and not thread!" She forced a tinny laugh.
"Almost was." Dusana nodded grimly. "I don't mind scars, though."
The awkward silence crawled back to them. Hermina bowed her head and applied numb weed to the worst parts of Dusana's arm. Pulse quickened beneath the reddened skin and Hermina's face heated with the knowledge.
"You don't run away from anything, do you?" said Hermina, so soft she almost didn't catch her own words.
"Everyone runs from things," Dusana replied, nonchalant. "Sometimes running is the best thing to do."
Hermina rewrapped her arm with clean bandages to buy herself some time to think. She didn't need to, Dusana broke the silence again.
"I'm sorry about the other night."
Hermina looked up, met her eyes for the first time that evening. Dusana's were storm clouds and ocean maelstrom, bluer than anything had a right to be.
"I..." Hermina gasped, stifled, her chest heavy. "I don't want you to be sorry."
"You got out of there pretty fast." Dusana held her gaze, wet her lips, and looked away. "So I am sorry. I should have let you be."
Dusana's arm was finished and there was no reason for Hermina to stay so close to her, fingers on the edge of her wrist smoothing the crease of the new bandage. She couldn't meet Dusana's eyes. Couldn't watch the storms struggling inside them. She thought Dusana chose to ignore her, regretted the kiss... or more likely been mad at Hermina for fleeing without a word. Nearly a week without seeing her had been heartbreaking agony Hermina thought she wouldn't survive. Melodrama that Elise would have laughed at her for. They were barely even friends, it was atrocious.
"I think I was running away from myself," said Hermina.
"Yeah, I'm pretty good at that too." Dusana huffed a sigh and leaned back on her good arm, shaking her shaggy brown hair from her face.
"I don't think I've seen you run away from anything."
"Some things might be better off if I did."
"No." Conviction flooded her after a drought of uncertainty. She swung to her feet. "Why would you say that? How?"
"I crowded you, I bullied you. You kissed me and I don't know why, but obviously you didn't want it because you ran the hell away." The tempest in her eyes raged but Hermina realized it wasn't against her, it was directed inward. At herself, for perceived slights. Dusana didn't attempt to stand but the muscles of her thighs tensed, coiled and ready to spring, as if she wanted to surge to her feet but couldn't because Hermina stood over her. "I understand why someone like you wouldn't want to kiss someone like me," she gestured between them, as if there were any actual differences at all. "So I should have run away."
"I ran away because I was afraid of... of having what I wanted." Hermina bit her lip and tugged at her hair. "Of ruining it once I got it."
Dusana's eyes snapped up to hers, lips parted without any words. They breathed together, quelling the squall inside Dusana. Confusion wrinkled her face, furrowed her brow, made her fingers clench in the rough cot blanket.
"I thought you hated me," said Dusana.
"Never," replied Hermina. She leaned in to kiss her again and this time, she didn't run.
Days passed in golden sunshine. Thread came. Dusana made regular appearances in the infirmary to have her healing burn tended to, but just as much to help make numb weed poultices and carry loads for the healers. Hermina paid her in soft smiles and quiet touches when no one was looking and they spent their evening talking over dry meals or wandering the grounds outside the weyr star watching.
And then a letter came.
There had been no clutches at Shigan for nearly a turn. No new blood, some of the riders suggested. There were dangers in breeding the same population of dragons to one another, it created weaknesses in the lines, and Shigan's queens refused to rise.
The letter was a good omen but it also required candidates. Weyrwoman Vikana knew exactly who she wanted to send.
"We're to be sent away?"
Dusana wanted to reach across to Hermina and grip her tight to soothe the distress in her voice, but she held still, jaw clenched and steely gaze on Vikana.
"Not sent away," weyrwoman Vikana rubbed her temples and stood. "To stand outside the weyr. It's not uncommon or unexpected. You're both eighteen and haven't yet impressed. This will be good for Shigan as well as Istabitha. It's expected you'll return here for weyrlinghood."
Assuming either of them bonded.
"They're not even properly searching us?" Hermina sniffed. Her pale face turned ghostly. "Do they really want us?"
"An invitation was sent requesting candidates. It's not traditional, but Istabitha isn't a traditional weyr." Vikana spread her palms. "I'm assuming some searchriders were sent out, but the pair of you have already been searched by Shigan's dragons. We wouldn't have been so insistent that you stand, Hermina, had it been otherwise."
The pair of them? Dusana had never been told she was searched and she'd been in the midst of dragon riders countless times. She shifted, uncomfortable, flexing her jaw to keep quiet.
"If neither of you truly wish to go to Istabitha I'll choose someone else from the candidate barracks. I won't force either of you."
Dusana didn't know anything about Istabitha but she didn't want to turn down another chance to impress. At eighteen her opportunities to stand dwindled and there was nothing she wanted as much as a dragon.
Almost nothing.
Dusana glanced at Hermina, silent and questioning. She hated the thought of going alone but Hermina was terrified of dragons. Terrified of anything outside the weyr, really. She left the safety of the caverns sporadically with Dusana, but they never ventured far. Leaving for an entirely different weyr, nontraditional at that, must have been horrifying. Hermina met her gaze and held it, her eyes gleaming daybreak blue. Dusana felt her face heating despite herself and quelled the urge to squirm.
"We..." Hermina started, her voice a mouse squeak. She cleared her throat, turned back to the weyrwoman, and tried again. "We'll go."
Elation bubbled. Dusana grinned and dove for Hermina, wrapping her in a tight hug that likely crushed all the air out of her lungs. She smelled sweet and perfect, her soft blonde hair tickled Dusana's nose and made her bury closer. Hermina laughed, her thin arms coming around Dusana's ribs.
"Thank-you," Dusana breathed.
"You weren't going without me." Hermina shook her head.
They parted to Vikana's bemused expression. "You two should pack your things and prepare yourselves. T'und will take you between when you're ready."
They left her office hand in hand, pulses racing between them.
"You don't need to go for me," said Dusana.
"I think..." Hermina sucked in a steadying breath. "I think I want to. I want to be brave again. I want to impress. It terrifies me but sometimes... I think that's okay, isn't it?"
Dusana squeezed her hand, grinning. "More than."